


Shoe Contract

by Gleennui



Series: Shoe Christmas [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Romance, St Nicholas Day, puck's screenplay, shoe christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21701557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gleennui/pseuds/Gleennui
Summary: On Shoe Christmas 2021, the screenplay Puck's been working on for 9 years finally comes to fruition--just in time for Finn's favorite holiday.
Relationships: Finn Hudson/Noah Puckerman
Series: Shoe Christmas [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1207719
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Shoe Contract

“They’re telling me it’s only on the table 48 hours, but my buddy at Universal says they’ll go out to a week if they like a writer.” 

Puck eases the Sonata onto the widest part of the shoulder he’s seen in about 50 miles. “I’m gonna need you to repeat all of this when I’m not on the Toll Road, Clair, but okay. Okay. This is for real? Tell me I didn’t take Finn’s melatonin gummies again and I’m actually living this.” 

Clairmont laughs in the sardonic way she has that doesn’t really make Puck any more sure he’s awake. 

“For real-for real, Puckerman. The contract’s pretty low-risk for them, but what they’re offering’s fair and what you’re lacking in upfront cash you’ll make up many times over as long as the pilot’s picked up.”

Puck takes a huge breath and exhales it slowly. On an eight-count, his therapist tells him. In for four, out for eight. By the time he gets to “seven” on the third breath, Clairmont’s tapping at her phone.

“Did you take some other gummies I don’t know about over there? Listen, I know you’re on your way back to South Bend, and I promise I’ll let you listen to Billy Joel or whoever in a minute, but gut reaction what do you think?”

“Fuck. Wow. I mean, I gotta talk to Finn and--”

“Pspsps shh.” Puck lifts an eyebrow at his phone. She _is_ the best agent in Chicago. “We’re going with ‘Fuck. Wow.’ I’m sending you the contract now and then you can look it over with Hudson, but I kinda need an answer by tomorrow night. No, not ‘kinda.’ Definitely, because I’m going to the game on Monday.” 

Puck and Finn are also planning on going to the game, but he thinks saying so might be unwise, so he just agrees and hangs up with an extra promise not to take any gummies of any kind until they talk again. 

As Puck accelerates back onto the Toll Road, though, he lets himself really fantasize about what had been mostly a pipe dream from sixth grade until about 15 minutes ago. That in itself almost makes Puck have to pull over again, but after he grips the wheel and grins until his face hurts, he starts thinking about what it all _means_. Eight years of late nights and writing on his phone in between classes and getting to work early to edit dialogue at his desk. An entire family and universe in his heart and then on his computer screen and so much a part of him it’s both exhilarating and heart-wrenching to share them with anyone. 

Right around LaPorte, drumming the steering wheel admittedly to “Uptown Girl” and halfway lost in a fantasy about what the Cohens’ living room looks like in the summer, Puck starts to feel _really_ giddy. Before anything else happens, he gets to talk to Finn about it, which feels like all the nights of Hanukkah in one, plus every single July trip to see Nana in Cleveland. Finn, who’s probably getting home right about now, in his button-down and sweater, no tie because it’s ‘Casual Friday.’ Puck wiggles a little in his seat picturing it. He hears his phone chime and glances down at it.

 _I’m taking no chances, Puckerman._

With one eye out for troopers, Puck swipes the message open and then snorts to himself. It’s attached to a calendar event: _December 7, 11:59:00PM. ‘Text favorite agent Clairmont about NBC contract.’_

Puck’s 99 per-cent sure he won’t be waiting until December 7th at all, because it’s only 3:30 on December 6th and--

“Oh, dammit!” 

The best part about their new house, Finn thinks, is the huge bathtub and shower they’re pretty sure the previous owners put in just to sell. It’s all grey marble and white porcelain and just modern enough to last them years without having weird trendy fixtures or voice-powered showerheads or whatever the Property Brothers are doing. 

Most work days, Finn takes a long shower between getting home and starting dinner. That Friday, with Puck in Chicago and bringing home pizza--the good New York kind, not the gross tomato sauce bowl, Finn’s shower runs extra long. His muscles are loose and he’s pleasantly drowsy by the time he dries off and puts a robe on. If Puck’s meeting went even a sixteenth as well as Finn feels right now, he has a feeling they’ll have a nice long night ahead of them. 

Puck’s home already; Finn can tell by his soft footsteps in what sounds like the kitchen and the smell of garlic. Finn grins to himself: pepperoni and mushrooms for Finn, extra meatballs for Puck, and garlic for both of them. 

“Hey,” Puck calls before Finn even has the bedroom door fully open. “Hurry up b’fore I eat your half.” 

“You wouldn’t ever,” Finn sing-songs before pulling Puck into a kiss. “You hate mushrooms and you haven’t eaten pork willingly since 8th grade.” He runs a hand through Puck’s hair and grabs a slice with the other. “How was your meeting? Did you tell Clair I said ‘hi’?” 

Puck hums and nudges Finn’s foot with his foot. No, Finn amends, looking down. Finn’s foot with Finn’s work shoe. Finn’s work shoe with something inside it. 

“Hey, you remembered!” Puck just hums again, so Finn crouches to pull the thing--a rolled-up piece of paper, he realizes--out of his shoe. Finn leans against Puck while he unrolls it, Puck’s arms immediately sliding around his waist. Finn can feel his eyes widen as soon as he gets the paper flat enough to read it. _This is an agreement between NBCUniversal and Noah P_ \--

Finn turns in Puck’s arms. Puck is already shaking with what Finn can feel is pent-up joy. 

“Yeah? Is that good?” Puck’s biting into his grin. 

“I should be asking you that!” Finn swats him, but leans in to kiss him, hard. When he pulls away, Puck starts grinning again. “Of course! Hell yeah! Yes! Puck!” 

Puck grabs a fistful of Finn’s shirt and tugs them back toward the rest of the house. “Pepperoni doesn’t go bad.” 

Three hours later, they’re eating lukewarm pizza in one kitchen chair. Puck’s lazily picking meatball off a slice and feeding it to Finn, piece by piece. He can feel Finn swallow where his forehead is resting against Finn’s neck, and it makes Puck feel safe in a way only the kid who started writing a screenplay in a cramped dorm room eight years ago could possibly understand. 

“Oh, sometimes I take your melatonin gummies, by the way.” 

Puck can feel Finn tilt his head and then rumble softly in his chest. His ring is cool where it’s pressed against Puck’s thigh. Puck flutters his eyes closed. 

“I know.”


End file.
